


it's called love

by spiritedwhere



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, M/M, Memory Loss, hospital room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritedwhere/pseuds/spiritedwhere
Summary: Yuuri was always the one to forget.One day, he leaves being the one who couldn't.





	1. it's called love

**Author's Note:**

> me: watches kimi no na wa multiple times during the same week  
> me: let's take all this angst and put it somewhere to good use!!1!

Yuuri was always the one to forget.

One day, he leaves being the one who couldn't.

He looks at Viktor, smiles at him as he takes a seat next to the sleeping body. He marks the swoop of his nose, the high arch of his cheekbones, remembers the way his chin, strong and sharp, felt in the morning.

He traces it all out with his eyes, never wanting to get closer in fear of never wanting to stop.

Viktor flutters his eyes open. They're bright and blue, more pigmented than anything else Yuuri ever saw.

“Hi,” he whispers, voice hoarse. He makes to rise, but can't make it up a few inches before slumping back down, weak and weary already.

“You're awake. We need to contact the nurse.” Yuuri reaches over for the remote, and presses the button, paging a nurse to come.

“What am I doing in here?” Viktor asks. He furrows his brow, struggles to remember.

He can't. The worry is clear on his face.

"You got into a car accident. No physical trauma, but you did get hit pretty hard on your head,” Yuuri tells him. He doesn't want to have some nurse give him the news, half heartedly.

Viktor doesn't deserve that.

"Car accident?” Viktor asks. He pales even more so than his already fair tone, raises a hand to brush against the bandaging wrapped around his head. “Was I with anyone?”

Yuuri smiles. Reaches down to fiddle with the sheets. Glances at Viktor, tells himself never to forget those cool eyes and sweetheart smile he always gave.

“No, you were alone.”

“Ah, are you sure? Was anybody else injured? Do you know any details?”

Yuuri is silent. He looks at Viktor, at this man who knew every part of him, committed every routine he ever skated to memory, every trip they took to some far off place.

“You really can't remember, can you?” Yuuri asks him, voice soft.

Viktor gazes at him before nodding. He turns his eyes always and views the room, grabbing onto whatever he can. It's like he's trying to compensate for all he's forgotten.

“Why?” is all he can make out, after a while. “I can't remember, can't even try to call anything specific to my mind right now. I don't even know what day it is, if I have to practice for anything later, or-“

“Memory loss. The doctors think it's long-term, but they'll have to do a few scans once you're healthy enough to go from room to-“

“Long-term?”

"They determined it earlier. You woke up a few hours back for a few minutes. A person you're quite familiar with came. You couldn't remember them at all,” Yuuri explains.

“You didn't even know their name.”

_You didn't even know my name._

“Oh.” It's a small, unsure response.

“They believe you'll be able to recover simple memories soon enough, but the majority-anything from the past year or so, anything that caused a big impact could take a longer time to recover.”

Viktor doesn't try to nod even then. He's shell shocked.

“I know it's hard to understand, even more so when the doctors come into the room and begin to explain, but it'll be easier to come to terms with. Is there anything you remember?”

“I'm Viktor Nikiforov. I'm twenty-seven years old. I have a dog, Makkachin. I live with him in Russia, in an apartment. I'm a professional ice skater,” Viktor lists off, brow furrowed.

Viktor is 28. Yuuri can feel his heart both breathe in relief and crack.

“Is that all? What's your last clear memory?”

“It's… me. Entering the banquet. They hold them after the competition, to celebrate the season. I won.” Viktor’s hair falls into his face. “That's all, after, it's… blurry, like pieces of things are out of place.”

_He doesn't remember a thing about me. Not even when we first met._

“How long ago was that? A month? Two?” Viktor asks.

“Over a year,” Yuuri informs him. He talks fast, voice as free of emotion as he can make it. He doesn't want to break. “You're twenty-eight right now. You live here in Russia with your dog, but you've taken a year off of skating.”

“Why?”

“To find inspiration. You were going to make a comeback soon, next season, before this happened.”

“Guess that's out of the picture, huh?”

"Not necessarily. You could recover physically in no time. It's more on the matter of your mind.”

“Thanks,” Viktor says. “For explaining it all.”

“No problem. It's the least I could do.”

“Are we?” Viktor asks him. His voice is serious, calm and cool. The only other sound filling the room come from the machines connected to him.

“Hmm?” Yuuri blinks. “Are we what?”

“Friends? Do I know happen to know you?”

Viktor’s smiling his heart shaped grin, eyes alight as he waits for a response. It's as if he's wishing for Yuuri to say yes.

“No. Not at all. I just happened to be on scene. Was the fastest option for getting you here safely.”

There was something sad in the way he rose, Viktor noted, the way he clapped his hands together and made his way to the door. Something in his smile as he grinned towards him.

It was something sad and familiar all the same, and Viktor found it in him a wish to remember something, anything that connected him to the stranger.

His brain languished with every moment spent trying, and his heart felt tainted and not quite in place, as if it had been removed and hastily set back.

Yuuri tried his best to be cheerful as he looked at Viktor. He observed the way the bandages did nothing to dull the way his silver hair caught onto the sunlight streaming in the windows.

“The nurse should be arriving any moment,” Yuuri told him. “You should try to stay awake until then, get more detailed information from her.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says once again. “For bringing me in, and staying until now.”

“It was nothing. I'm sure you would have done the same for me, or anyone.”

 _No_ , Yuuri tells himself. _He would never._

_Viktor would never leave me like this._

Yuuri likes to think that if it were up to Viktor, he would never leave Yuuri’s side. He also likes to think Viktor would forgive him.

“I'd do anything for someone in trouble,” Viktor tells him, smiling that award winning, teeth blinding smile. With that, Yuuri is suddenly a teenager again, conflicted as the thoughts come raining down on him.

He puts a hand on the door, clenches the handle. He can turn around, tell him right now. It doesn't have to end like this.

Then he remembers how much Viktor has lost while being with him. How he had to stay by the sidelines, holding him back from pursuing opportunities that would've shown off the amazing talent he held.

Yuuri opens the door, makes to walk through it.

He stops.

“My name,” he begins. “Is Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri. Thought you'd like to know that.”

"Yuuri.” Viktor tests out the word. Yuuri feels his heart drop, squeeze up, and shatter all at once. He wishes he could collect every time Viktor spoke his name and preserve it, bottle or up before it's gone forever.

“Hope you have a nice recovery.”

Yuuri exits the room, feet pounding on the floor and heart beating more and more. Wanting to crumble it's shattered pieces onto the ground below him. He passed a nurse, gives her some half-Japanese, half-English slur of words about Viktor being up. He goes down the hallways, finds an elevator, and punches the button to the first floor.

The doors closes, and so does he finally, slumping onto the ground, hands finding their way to his face and tears falling down fast, smudging his glasses. He lets out loud sobs as he goes down the floors, doesn’t fear the off chance he could have someone else sharing the elevator with him.

He doesn't fear for anything at the moment.

Yuuri always did forgot. Never could afterwards.

 


	2. you wouldn't know it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri doesn't want to explain, doesn't want to talk or open up to anyone. Not yet.
> 
> Not until it stops hurting.
> 
> Yuuri assumes once it does, he'll stop wearing the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so everyone got more than pissed at me for making something so short and sad, but fun fact! i never actually intended to leave it like that! i was just really emotional from your name so yeah blame the movie. i also didn't intend for this?? so yeah

Days like this are peaceful.

The bathhouse is bustling, people coming in and out to relax and view the scenery the town has to offer. When the windows are opened up, children’s laughs are heard clearly down the street as they chase and play.

When he goes down the hallway to his room, he can hear the sounds become distant, the closed off walls separating him from everyone else.

Yuuri sets the folded clothes down on his bed, opens a drawer and sets them in carefully. Closing it, he reaches into his back pocket and grabs his phone. It's been going off all morning, but his mother has been rushing him about to help and finish chores without a good amount of time to check, more less any to breathe.

They're all from Phichit, he notes. He supposes it'd make sense; they've been planning to visit the other for a while, and with the upcoming skating season drawing closer and closer with summer close to its end, it may be Phichit’s only time to spare.

When he answers Phichit, he goes to check his timeline also. He hasn't used it in ages, preferring to stay away from social media, but is interested in knowing what's become of the others. A new fling here and there, new sites viewed, and-

A picture of Yuuri and _him_ , right next to a news article. It’s written in Russian, but it could be written in English and Yuuri still wouldn't be able to decrypt the words.

As he continues to scroll down, he begins to notice the surplus of images of both him and _him_ , way more than should have been published. He knows they'll all continue rumors and countless ideas as to what has become of Yuuri, and detailed descriptions of whatever _he_ has been up to.

Yuuri doesn't want to explain, doesn't want to talk or open up to anyone. Not yet.

Not until it stops hurting.

Yuuri assumes once it does, he'll stop wearing the ring.

He locks his phone, not bothering to glance through them all. If he ignores it, he won't have to talk about it to any of his acquaintances when they bombard him with questions, which means it isn't a problem.

It's how he deals with a lot of things.

He lies down on his bed, gazes at his stomach. For all the months he's spent at his family’s bathhouse, his stomach maintains in near perfect shape as it did when he skated. He owns that to the constant working out, running and skating and late night dance sessions until his legs shake and chest heaves and arms can't stop trembling.

And the tears can't stop falling.

Yuuri lets his gaze drift up to the ceiling, stares at the bland color. If he squints hard enough, he sees the marks left by posters he somehow managed to put up there as a teenager.

He knows who was on all those posters. Who's smile was so different face to face than it had been compared to the ones pinned up.

He doesn't want to say his name.

When he gets up, the room feels heavier, as if a weight presses down onto him. Yuuri can feel it deep in his chest, keeping his ribs caged in and heart pounding and pounding. His hands feel clammy and his eyesight keeps a constant switch between clear and blurry, hurting his head.

He can't stay in here much longer. Not this alone with his thoughts. If he is, he'll start to think of _him_ again. Yuuri closes his eyes, only opens them when his hand is on the door and a jacket is under an arm, tugged on as he makes his way out of the house. He calls out to his mother, tells her the excuse of Yuuko needing him to help out.

When he's outside, he doesn't stop his pace as he hurriedly makes for the rink. Everywhere he goes, there's the trace of _him_ , an ever-present reminder of his movements and taste. If Yuuri focuses hard enough, it's like he’s still here, loitering around the beach or waiting to take a photo at the bridge.

He has to stop keeping him in his mind. He has to.

It’s later than he thought when he reaches the rink, the sun already almost down and kids making towards home. When he opens the door, he breathes in the familiar scent and makes for the locker room.

As he opens up his locker and grabs his skates, he reaches in his pocket only to realize he's left his phone at home. It doesn't phase him as much, with the lack of contact he carries, but still, he feels the disappearance of it on him.

Just like with _him_ , Yuuri notes.

He leans down to put take off his shoes, hears the door open. He doesn't give much mind, thinks of it as someone coming in to grab their belongings. When he hears the person make their way towards him, Yuuri assumes they've placed their stuff in a nearby locker. “Hey,” he starts, “I’ll move out of the way real quick.”

They respond in English.

“Yuuri.”

He stops, hands trembling as they grip the laces he's untied. He keeps his head down, unable to bring it upwards and confirm his thoughts.

But, he already knows. He _knows_ he wouldn't forget a voice so thrilling to hear, as if it itself is a song playing, jarring his bones.

The song seems to have lost its rhythm now. Yuuri imagines it as a broken record, scratchy and painful to hear as it plays over and over again.

He stays still, unable to do anything. He doesn't know how he's here, doesn't want to question it, obtain any answers.

“You must have me mistaken with someone else,” he starts, eyes trained down. “I'm sorry, but I’m not-“

“Yuuri, I know it's you.”

He grits his teeth. The floor suddenly seems blurry, and when he blinks, he feels the wetness of tears come onto his eyelashes. He opens his mouth again, begins. "I'm not-“

“Yuuri, look at me!”

A hand is brought to touch his face, pulls him upwards to look. Yuuri sees clear blue eyes and silver hair. He sees early morning cuddles and fancy dinners. He sees ugly ties and lavish suits and comfy sweatpants and warm mugs and stupid movies.

He sees _Viktor_.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't hear anything come from Viktor’s mouth. He can't see anything but him. Surrounding him is his scent, of that one soap bar Viktor always bought, and that horrible cologne he refused to toss. When he looks at him, he sees longer hair, skin that's lost its shine. His eyes are dull, cheeks the only color painting him. His hands are on his face now, one tracing the area between his lower lip and chin, the other rested onto his cheek.

“Why did you leave me?” is all Viktor can ask. “Why did you go?” All he can say in that same tone he always used when he talked to Yuuri, calm and accepting.

Like he was ready to take any response as an apology.

Yuuri takes a breath, deep and loud. “You aren't supposed to be here,” he starts. Even so, he moves his face more into Viktor’s hand, allows the familiar touch to grace his memory once more. “You should be practicing-“

Viktor doesn't even attempt to listen to Yuuri’s protest, knowing it'll be calls for him to just go. “I need you,” he interrupts. Viktor leans in closer, lowers his head until Yuuri can't even attempt to move from his gaze, foreheads brushing amongst each other. Yuuri isn't even sure he'd want to move away. “I need you by my side.”

“No, you don't.” Yuuri blinks, tears beginning to spill out. He imagines them falling out, painting his cheeks. “You need to be away from me. You need to live your life without me.”

“I can't do that; I can't be without you.”

“Don't you understand? If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have gotten into that accident, wouldn't have faced losing it all!”

“That still didn't mean you should've left me.” Viktor closes his eyes briefly, opens them, and continues. His eyes are wet, shining in the low light. “I needed you the most then-“

“You didn't even remember who I was.” His tone is cold, tears colliding into his throat. “What better way than to rid you of the problem, if you can't even remember what it is?”

“You were never a problem.” His voice is shaky. Viktor moves his fingers to spread on Yuuri’s cheek, touch the path of tears that paint him. Yuuri can feel the cold metal of Viktor’s ring, of _their_ ring.

He looks at Yuuri with the same eyes he gave him in Barcelona. Soft, sweet eyes that show nothing more but admiration. Eyes he had never showed anyone else before. They belonged to the Viktor Nikiforov with goofy jokes, who smiled his heart shaped grin with pride and complained comments on his hair. Who made breakfast in the mornings and spilled it all on his way towards their room. Who bought matching outfits for him and his dog.

They belonged to the Viktor Nikiforov who loved Katsuki Yuuri.

“You were my solution,” he says. Yuuri can't help the slight sob that break out, the way he closes his eyes and turns more into Viktor’s hand. A second more, and Yuuri loses it. He falls into him, bringing his arms to wrap themselves around him.

He feels the way his heart is slowly picking up all the broken pieces, connecting themselves once more with Viktor’s touch, with the feeling of him so close and real and _alive_.

“Why didn't you come sooner?” Yuuri sobs against him, pressing his face into Viktor’s chest. Viktor holds him tightly, moving his arms to wrap around Yuuri. “I couldn't stop- couldn't stop worrying about you. Couldn't manage to think of anything else.”

“I had to remember.” Lips are pressed onto Yuuri’s head, the movement as he continues to talk felt by Yuuri. “I had to make myself remember about you. Everything about you.”

“I couldn't forget,” Yuuri tells him, voice hoarse and breaths shakily snaking out. “No matter what, I couldn't. You were always there.”

When Yuuri raises his head to look at Viktor, he meets him with a kiss, both faces wet and lips salty.

He kisses Viktor, and it's like coming back to life, as if he's reclaiming a long lost identity. It's as he's a thread woven alongside Viktor, intertwined forever. Yuuri moves his lips sloppily, love seeping out and pouring everywhere onto each other.

He kisses him and cries, knowing, as with everything else, he couldn't try to forget this.

He couldn't forget _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> @inuyashas_ on twitter


End file.
